Lies(13)

“Like I told you, I came up in the foster system,” he says, tossing a Swedish Fish into his mouth and chewing. “Spent most of my time running wild, getting into and out of trouble. Eventually they’d get sick of me and pass me on to the next foster home. No one really cared what I did.”

I always figured this aspect of his background accounted for his being somewhat emotionally stunted. A loveless childhood is bound to leave its mark. And I hate thinking of him being alone. My family has its foibles, though there’s affection there too. We care about each other. I tried to give this to Thom, but he proved remarkably resistant to any and all exchange of feelings. At least now I know why. Not only did his childhood suck, but he was probably trained to go without. I can only imagine that forging bonds, having actual feelings about people, makes it harder to disappear when the job is done. Had to make it harder to kill.

“Enlisted in the army first chance I got, turned out I was good at something after all. Kept myself out of trouble and worked hard,” he continues. “Worked my way up to Ranger before I got tapped for this. Thought I was trying out for Delta, but it was not.”

“You’re not in the military anymore?”

“Nope. This is closer to what you’d call private-sector work. No government oversight. Private funding.”

“What’d they do to you?”

“Put me through the damn wringer. Made the training I’d had up until then look like a joke.”

I nod, turning all of the information over inside my head. “But you’re the good guys, right? You’re trying to make things better?”

“Yes, Betty. Trying.”

“In what ways?”

Now he’s really frowning. “All sorts of things. Stopping terrorists, dealing with hostage situations, trying to prevent genocides, tracing nukes, obstructing arms trades. Basically cutting the heads off snakes.”

Sounds like he’s fighting the good fight. But I still wish I could read him. I used to think I could, but now I know I don’t have a clue. In this current situation, he has all the power. I’m pretty much along for a ride that might wind up killing me. One that I have no foreseeable way of getting out of. Being so dependent on someone sucks. But then, everything about this pretty much does. “And that’s the truth…what you just told me?”

“Yes, that’s the truth. We’re not always successful, but we try.”

The only thing I can do right now is wait and see. “Okay.”





CHAPTER THREE


“So you’ve been trained in espionage-type stuff?”

“Define stuff,” he says.

“Obviously, you’ve got your Boy Scout badge for lying and manipulating.”

“Obviously,” he agrees. “Though we tend to call it establishing and maintaining cover. Executing surveillance. It sounds nicer that way. More polite.”

“Hmm. What else have you earned badges in?” I ask, turning in the seat again. All the better to see him. Somehow he seems more alive to me now. Just more, in general. Maybe I’m finally dealing with the real Thom as opposed to a weak facsimile of the man.

“Ah, infiltration, identity theft…all of your usual types of trickery and deceit. The skillset is generally labeled combat and counterintelligence skills.”

“And do you have gadgets? Do you carry, like, a bug out bag?”

He gives me side eyes.

“You know what I mean, Thom. What normal people have in case of a zombie apocalypse? Or in your case, being caught doing spy-type activities.”

“Do normal people really prepare for a zombie apocalypse? That’s the question…”

“Reality television says yes.”

He makes a low humming noise. “To answer your question, I have an operational bag. But there are a few things I also always carry on me in case of emergencies.”

“Such as?”

A slightly pained expression crosses his face. Information’s a valued commodity in his world and here I am forcing him to hand it over for no payoff at all. I almost feel sorry for the guy. “A razor blade, handcuff key, bobby pin…stuff like that I’ve pretty much always got on me.”

“Why a bobby pin? Emergency hair malfunction?”

“Sure, it could be used for that. Though I tend to utilize it more for getting out of zip ties.”

“Huh. I know you love your man bag, but I’ve never actually seen you with any of those other things.”

“That’s because they’re hidden in my clothing, the hem of my shirt or pants, tongue of my shoe, in my belt and such. Our operations are called clandestine for a reason.”

I shake my head. “Wow. Your world is weird.”

“I can see how it would seem that way to you. But it’s pretty much all I’ve ever known.”

Interesting. “I guess you can acclimatize to anything given enough time.”

“Guess so.”

Earlier, we stopped and swapped our license plates with some others stored in the back of the SUV, making it a little harder for anyone who heard about the scene at the gas station to trace us. My ass aches from sitting in the vehicle for so long. But at least I’m still in one piece.

Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, we turned off the highway. Now we’re heading into the hills and wilderness and I don’t know what. “Are you going to kill me and dump my body out here among all of this natural splendor?”